


Glimpses of a Life in Love

by kattahj



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: How Marsali fell in love with Fergus, and how - much later - he came to return her feelings.





	Glimpses of a Life in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you muykonos and shot-of-patron for the beta!
> 
> This is primarily based on the TV show, in terms of timeline and other details, though there's some book-specific stuff in there as well. I hope it'll satisfy fans of both.
> 
> Concrit always welcome!

The first meeting of two lovers was supposed to be something magical, seared into the brain for eternity, but the truth was, Marsali had no recollection of when she had first met Fergus.

Her earliest memory of him was when she visited Lallybroch in late summer. She must have been three or four, and all the children were playing around in a stack of newly harvested hay, quietly, so their parents wouldn't catch them – the hay was for the animals, and crushing it under their tiny feet was a forbidden pastime.

She had fallen off, and knocked a front tooth loose. Years later, she could still remember her surprise at suddenly lying on the floor with a hard lump on her tongue and the taste of warm blood in her mouth. Pain slowly spread through her face and scraped hands, making her whimper.

That whimper might have turned into a full-blown cry and ruined their secret game, had Fergus not slid down the haystack and gently lifted her upright again. As the oldest of the lot, and twice the height of her, he practically counted as an adult in terms of comfort, and just like an adult, he wiped the tears off her face, told her to open her mouth, and firmly stuck the tooth back in place.

"There you are," he said, with those throaty French _R's_ he hadn't yet lost. "You'll be fine. Just chew on the side for a bit."

He was right, too. The tooth stayed in place, though it was a little grey and misshapen, so she was quite relieved when the permanent one grew in.

* * *

She must have met him dozens of times before that, and dozens of times still before the next memory, one where he sat in a corner in the Lallybroch kitchen, face pinched and white with pain, and his handless arm bandaged up in a sling.

Wee Marsali had been given new silk ribbons for her hair, yellow as dandelions, and all morning she had been stroking them, marvelling at the colour and the sensation against her skin.

When she saw how badly Fergus hurt, the only way she could think of to help was to give him a little of her own joy, and so she pulled off one of the ribbons and stuck it in his remaining hand.

"Here," she said. "It's yours."

He stared at her, bewildered. "Thank you," he said automatically, the question "why" not asked out loud, but obvious in his voice.

"It's soft," she explained. "See?"

Taking his hand in hers, she wrapped the ribbon around his fingers and brought it up to his face, slowly letting the silk caress his cheek.

"Feels good, does it no?"

He nodded, and his eyelashes fluttered down a few times in quick succession.

" _Oui_ ," he said hoarsely. "Yes, it does. Thank you, _ma petite_."

That was the first time he'd called her that. And even then, she had longed to hear it again.

* * *

How old do you have to be, to call it love? When she was seven, a winter storm kept her at Lallybroch overnight, sitting by the fire trading jokes with the Murray bairns. She and Fergus were the furthest apart in age, but they laughed at each other's silly stories more than any of the others. Was it love, that sense of shared joy, that desire to bury her fingers in his curly hair? Or a couple of years later, when he cut his hair off and smoothed it out, and she mourned the loss like the death of a pet, even though she had never actually touched it - was that love? His hair never grew out quite as curly again.

At the age of eleven, she arrived at the May Day celebration in her finest dress, loose hair kept away from her face by her remaining old silk ribbon.

Fergus had been there, a grown man by then, and far too busy with the local beauties to pay much attention to wee lasses like Marsali, but he had greeted her warmly when he saw her.

"What a nice dress," he said. "It matches your hair."

"And the ribbon," she pointed out, heart racing in her chest.

"Yes," he said, eyes resting on said accessory. "I hope you do not miss the other one too much?"

"Nay," she said, grin spreading over her face, impossible to control. "I am glad you have it."

"As am I." His face grew serious, though his eyes twinkled. "There were many times I needed something soft to hold onto."

She was unsure how to respond when a mate swept him away, leaving her behind with that hopeless smile still on her face, a smile that slowly died away when she saw the women he spoke to and flirted with during the rest of the feast. How grown up they all were.

By then, she _had_ called it love. Only to herself, late that night when she had lain crying and smiling in equal measure in her bed back home, quietly so baby Joanie wouldn't hear.

For the first time in her life, she was in love, and her damned fool of a heart didn't care one bit that she couldn't have him, that she was still a wee bairn and he was a man, and that he was bound to get married long before she had any hope of catching his eye.

But he had complimented her dress, and he had kept her ribbon-at least there was _something_ of hers that he liked.

* * *

She wore that dress for as long as she could, but she was still growing, and soon the waist was too high and it was too tight around the chest; there were only so many times she could let the seams out. The ribbon, too, was worn down with overuse, and in the end Mam threatened to throw the old ratty thing in the fire, so Marsali tucked the threadbare remains away in a corner of her drawer.

She fell in love with other boys, or told herself that she did. There was no use in wishing for the moon, and while she was never pretty enough to make all the boys turn their heads, she did get appreciative glances now and then. The first time such a glance came from a lad she found bonny, she marched right up to him and asked, "Do you want to share my apple?"

He did, and they called each other sweethearts for three weeks until Mam found out and forbade the whole thing, lecturing her about propriety and reputation with every stroke of the cane.

There were too many rules about what to do around boys, how to speak to them and look at them – or rather how to avoid any of those things. Marsali thought it all terribly unfair but did her best to oblige. Once when her bleedings struck (the curse of Eve, her mother called it), she spent the evening curled around an old wine bottle filled with hot water, reading _A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates_ and pondered running off for a life of piracy. Nobody ever asked Anne Bonny to lower her eyes in the presence of men – or if they did, she probably cut their noses off.

Not that she'd cut Mam's nose off. That would be a terrible thing to do, and a crime against the fourth commandment. Though of course, she was already contemplating breaking the fifth and seventh, and judging by all those lectures, she'd have to keep herself in stern check so as to not accidentally break the sixth.

Still. There was no harm in a few smiles and glances from time to time, just to let the lads know that their appreciation wasn't wasted.

* * *

When Marsali was sixteen, her Mam married for the third time. Jamie Fraser was much kinder and warmer than her real father had been, and soon she called him Daddy just like Joan did. Maybe she was too old for the word, but it gave her comfort, like pulling a warm blanket all around herself.

It didn't take her too long to figure out that the blanket didn't encompass her mother. Mam tensed up in Jamie's presence, and worse when he tried to touch her. Marsali couldn't figure out the reason for it, and she feared it may have something to do with the marital bed, and that whole horrid business of childbirth.

Maybe love wasn't worth the effort, if that was how it turned out in the end. Maybe she should just give up the notion altogether. It wasn't as though there were any lads she'd truly miss, if it came to that.

Or so she thought, until she came back from feeding the chickens one morning and found Fergus by the house, talking to Daddy. Automatically, she straightened herself up and tried to find the bearing of a grown woman.

"Oh, hello, Marsali," he said with a smile. Kind, polite, indifferent, every bit a man of the world talking to a mere bairn.

Her heart did a flip and then sank to the bottom of her chest.

"Hello, Fergus," she said, trying her best to mimic his tone of voice. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and see if there's anything else Mam needs doing."

She entered the house, leaving them behind, and rushed up to her room, where she threw herself onto the bed and cried her eyes out.

All those years, all those other lads, and the old feelings were still there, as daft and impossible as always.

* * *

Having Daddy in the house meant Fergus came around more often too, which would have been a thrill, except for some reason Mam didn't seem to want him there. Every time Fergus visited, she pursed her lips hard and looked as if someone had forgotten to empty the chamber pots.

He picked up on this right away, and when his work necessitated a visit to Balriggan, he took to waiting in the yard outside the house, like a common messenger. Marsali ached to stop and talk to him, but between the way words caught in her throat and her mother's hard glares, she didn't know where to begin.

Then one day, as Marsali was feeding the pigs, Tannakin, the large mother sow, knocked her over and ran past her through the gate.

"Stop that pig!" Marsali cried, struggling to get back to her feet and usher all the piglets back into the pen so she could close it without losing any more animals. "Stop her!"

She ran after the sow, who had been given quite the head start sprinting down the road. Fergus was nearby, and at the sight of Tannakin, made a split-second decision to rush out into the beast's path and try to tackle her.

" _Ó dhìol_!" Marsali cursed, knowing how much that sow weighed. Fergus was trying to hold on to the fat, squirming beastie, wild squeals in his ears as he dodged hooves aimed at his face.

"Let her go!" Heart thumping, Marsali reached the road. "Ye daft fool!"

Fergus eased his grip, and the sow took her chance, scrambling to get off him. She went into the orchard, sulking and overwhelmed by the trouble she'd caused.

"Are you mad?" Marsali asked, kneeling by a dishevelled Fergus. His lip was split, and his clothes in a state even worse than her own. "Ye could have died!"

"You asked me to stop her," Fergus said mildly.

"Not like that! Are you hurt?"

"Not too badly, I don't think." He sat up, and winced a little. "Might have bruised a few ribs."

His left arm was resting in his lap, and she noticed that the false hand was hanging off it at an unsettling angle. "Um," she said, nodding towards it.

Fergus frowned at the sight and rolled the sleeve up to inspect the damage. "Strap's broken. Lucky it wasn't the other one, no?" Slowly, he climbed to his feet and looked over at the sow, who was munching at a fallen apple. "What are we to do with you?"

"Oh, so _now_ you're standing still," Marsali complained. Tannakin did seem to have calmed down, which made their next job a little easier. With her eyes still on the pig, Marsali told Fergus, "Give me your belt. And there's a wheelbarrow by the barn, bring it over."

"Why?" Fergus asked, already unbuckling his belt.

"I'm going to tie her down."

"That is much too dangerous!."

"I ken her and you don't," Marsali said impatiently. "And I'm not about to let her kick me in the face."

She held out her hand, and Fergus reluctantly put his belt in it.

"Dinna just stand there," she said between clenched teeth as she approached the pig. "Go get that wheelbarrow. I want it ready for when I'm done."

"There must be a better way."

"Go!"

She had no way of knowing if he did as told; her focus was now entirely on the pig, who was staring back at her, apples forgotten. Even that pig brain knew to be suspicious, and Tannakin looked ready to run again.

"Tannie-Tannie-Tannakin," Marsali said in a singsong voice. "Time to go home to your wee piggie babies."

She picked up another apple from the ground and moved closer, holding it out for Tannakin to take. As the sow closed her mouth on the apple, Marsali reached out and scratched her behind the ears.

The tension eased out of the large body, and Tannakin leaned into the touch. Marsali waited a little longer, before quickly reaching down to wrap the belt around all four hooves.

The sow fell over, screaming as only a pig could scream, and Marsali called out, "Fergus! I need that wheelbarrow!"

There were some French curses from the road, and then Fergus and the wheelbarrow both showed up in her line of sight, on a bumpy, veering course towards her.

Tannakin was furious but helpless, and with joint efforts, Marsali and Fergus managed to get her loaded into the wheelbarrow, which became heavy enough that it took both of them, each at one handlebar, to get the screaming pig back to the pen.

Pig safe inside, Marsali untied Tannakin, who then returned to her piglets as if the adventure never happened.

Marsali carefully made sure no animals went past her as she exited the pen this time, then leaned both elbows on the gate, exhausted, watching the pigs.

"Next time, I'll just slaughter you where you stand," she told the sow.

Fergus took up a resting spot next to her. "Do you know the difference between stabbing a man and slaughtering a pig?" he asked.

"No?"

"One is assault with intent to kill, the other is killing with intent to salt."

She laughed, memories of a cold winter night before the fire returning to her. "Do you remember the one about the man who wore his stockings inside out?"

"Because there was a hole on the other side," Fergus filled in.

She looked up at him, and her laughter died off at the sight. With an apologetic grimace, she handed him his belt, which was now scuffed and muddied, though perhaps still useable. "You look terrible. I'm so sorry. And thank you, for the help."

"I did little but get trampled."

"And get the wheelbarrow, and help me take Tannakin back. That's plenty. Shall I sew up your strap for you?"

He shook his head. "I will take it to the shoemaker in the morning."

"Tomorrow's Sunday," she pointed out. "He willnae be at work. Let me mend it, and then you can have him make a more proper job of it on Monday. Anyway, we need to get you cleaned up."

"Your mother would not like it," he said, throwing a helpless glance towards the house. "I only came to give milord a message."

"He's not home," she said. "Neither one of them are."

The tension eased out of his shoulders at that, and he nodded slightly, starting to walk.

She couldn't keep the smile down. "Coward. Afraid of me mam?"

"No."

"Aye." She made her steps longer so she could walk beside him. In truth, she didn't blame him for the feeling – there were times when she, too, went out of her way not to disturb her mother. Not that it helped. "Dinna fash, she's less likely to kick you than that sow. Though not by much."

His lips curled, and the sight sent a jolt of pleasure down her chest.

They washed off the worst of the muck at the pump. Fergus looked away as she loosened her dress, like a perfect gentleman. She would have appreciated the gesture more, were it not for the fact that it forced her to show the same courtesy to him.

Dripping wet but clean, they entered the house. Marsali went up for a quick change of dress and to fetch her sewing kit. There wasn't any time to make herself look better, but she brushed the worst tangles out of her hair and pinched her cheeks before heading back down.

Not that he noticed. He was crouching down by the fireplace, getting the fire burning, the first flames licking up just as she reached him.

"I thought..." he started, standing up. His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, admitting. "It was cold."

"Aye. Good thinking." She took out a needle and spool of thread, both sturdy enough to sew leather, and waited for him.

Silently, he unstrapped his hand and gave it to her.

Her first thought was that his cut-off wrist looked like a thick meat sausage, stitches pulled together in the middle, but for once in her life she managed to keep her mouth shut and not say it out loud. She hastened to raise her eyes to his face – to the way his hair, damp after the washing, curled over his forehead the way it had when he was younger. The angle of his cheekbones, his eyes gazing into hers, so close together. Before she could stop herself, she brushed one of those curls aside, to get a better look.

"Your hair used to curl like this all the time," she said. "I miss it."

"It is easier to manage now," he replied, with a hint of amusement.

Dear God, what was she doing? She wasn't about to come off as a lovesick child. Ignoring his soft smile the best she could, she focused her attention on the broken strap. It wasn't too badly damaged. Only the thread fastening the strap had been torn, not the leather itself, which made it easy enough to mend until the shoemaker could do it properly.

She sat down by the window, which was as of yet lighter than the fireplace, and admitted, "I wish you'd come by more often."

"I would, but… milord told your mother some things that… well, that are true… but I wish he hadn't."

Curiosity made her look up. "What sort of things?"

"Just things." He shook his head slightly, then forced the levity back into his voice. "Thank you for helping with this."

"It's the least I can do," she said. "That pig's a menace. Ye'll be black and blue tomorrow."

"Probably."

His laughter at that was so sweet that she ducked her head down again and tried to concentrate on her work. The silence made her too aware of her own beating heart, though, and so instead she hummed to herself:

"At Polwart on the green, if you'll meet me the morn..."

Fergus joined in, thoughtfully and half-mumbled, like he couldn't quite remember the words: "Where lasses do convene to dance about the thorn..."

Singing with him like this was a strange comfort, but she also realized as they continued that the song, with its theme of love, was ill chosen. Her cheeks were heating by the time she concluded the verse: "A lover and a lad complete, the lad and lover you." With a deep breath and too shrill a voice, she said, "Anyway, I like the humourous songs better. Do you ken An Account of the Doctor and his Patients?"

"I believe I have heard it, but not often enough to recall the words. Will you sing it to me?"

Singing all alone was a different kind of torment, but she did it, acutely aware of his presence, and even more so as he came up to sit beside her. His gaze fixed on her, though she couldn't have said if it was her features, or merely the words of the song, that he was trying to memorize.

"...To change their lewd, for sober life, and rotten whore for sounder wife..."

What was the meaning of that shadow that flew over his face? Had she imagined it?

"...They all agreed that his advice was honest, wholesome, grave and wise, but not one Man would quit his vice..."

The creak and subsequent slam of the front door made her trail off. Fergus made a gesture as if he meant to leave, but must have realized that there was no time for it.

At least she was decent. And he may be damp, bruised, and even after washing, a bit dirty, but he was fully dressed.

Still, by the face of her mam, stepping into the room, they might as well have been entwined on the floor. Joan, by her side, seemed to pick up on her mother's anger, and her "good day" was a lot more quiet than it usually would have been.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Mam asked.

Fergus stood up, fiddling with his cravat. "I came to deliver a message, to milord."

"He's not here. You can deliver it to me, and then leave. I willna have ye alone with my daughter."

"Please, Madame Fraser, she is a mere child! I would never..."

"What is the message?"

He glanced over at Marsali, who did her best to keep her eyes dry from tears.

A mere child? The comment seemed to have done nothing to placate Mam. By the fury in her face, it'd be a miracle if any message got passed on.

Fergus must have seen it too, but he could hardly refuse. "The printer accepted our offer. He will sell us the shop."

For some reason, that deflated Mam completely. Marsali frowned.

"What shop?" Joan asked, just as Marsali asked, "What printer?"

"You have not told them?" Fergus asked Mam.

"It is no business of yours what I tell my daughters!"

"Mam! Fergus! _What printer_?"

Fergus was the one who eventually answered, reluctantly: "Milord is buying a print shop in Edinburgh. He means to move there."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "Daddy's leaving?"

Joan's mouth opened slowly. "He's moving to Edinburgh? Without us?"

Marsali's heart echoed her sister's disappointment. It seemed she was destined to lose one father after another, and this one had by far been the best of the lot. And she'd been having such a lovely time with Fergus, too, until Mam interrupted.

Turning to Mam, the common denominator in all of this, Marsali let loose all the fury, frustration and sorrow: "And you didn't tell me? You _want_ him gone! You've _driven_ him away!"

Mam slapped her across the face, silencing her tirade, although Joan, instead, let out a small, pitiful scream.

"Madame Fraser!" Fergus protested.

"Leave. Now," Mam said, without taking her eyes off Marsali.

Fergus hesitated, then nodded and moved towards the door, only to turn back around. "My hand…?"

Marsali picked it up, seething quietly, and without any hurry fastened her stitches and gave the hand over.

"Thank you," he said.

"Thank _you_. And sorry about all this."

"So am I," he said quietly.

As soon as Fergus took his hand and left, Mam turned to Marsali.

"What were you doing with him?"

"Nothing," she replied. "And it will _be_ nothing, either, thanks to you! Why do you always have to ruin everything!?"

"I'm the only thing keeping you _from_ ruin, you silly lass!"

"Stop!" Joan cried out. "Please stop!"

Marsali pulled her into a hug, forcing herself to calm down as best she could.

"Come on," she said, once she had her voice back in control. "Let's go up to our room. I will read to you from the pirate book."

As they went upstairs, Marsali could tell how forlorn her mother looked, left alone in the middle of the downstairs floor, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not then.

In the middle of the night, Marsali woke up to the sound of Mam weeping.

Marsali left the bed, quietly so as to not disturb Joan, and went over to the next bedroom.

Mam was lying curled up like a small child, holding herself close like she was afraid her innards would fall out, and tears ran down her face, wetting the locks of hair smeared across her cheeks.

Marsali lay down next to her under the covers, and gently put her arm around Mam's back. Neither of them said a word.

She couldn't fall asleep until she heard Mam's sobs quieten into the deep, regular breaths of slumber.

* * *

Even though things had been strained between her mam and stepfather for some time, his absence was still acutely felt at Balriggan. As the older sister, Marsali had more experience with loss, so she didn't as cry much as little Joanie did when he left. Even so, she missed him profusely, and cried when she was alone. When the invitation came to celebrate Michael Murray's wedding, knowing Daddy would be coming home from Edinburgh to be there was a comparable joy to knowing Fergus would accompany him.

Marsali had been wearing the same party dress for years, letting the hems down, but this time, the seam burst when she tried it on.

"I _told_ you it was too small!" she complained. "Now what do we do?"

Mam, who had been trying to mend the seam, acknowledged that there wasn't enough dress left to be let out once again and shook her head. "There's neither time nor money enough to make a new one. You shall have to wear your Sunday dress."

"A black Sunday dress, for a wedding? I'm not the bride!"

"Well, if you'd rather have your weekday dress, then..." Mam paused, and a look crossed her face. She straightened up, mouth tightening into a determined line, and went down to the kitchen.

She returned with a large key in hand and swept past the girls' room into her own, where she wrestled the lock of a chest that stood in the corner.

Marsali trailed after her and watched in wonder. That chest belonged to Daddy, one of the things he still hadn't returned to collect after moving away. In the whole year they had lived together as a family, she had never seen what was inside.

But now, with some mild force used on the key, the lid opened to reveal women's clothing. Coats, dresses, hats, shoes – Marsali sank down on the floor to get a closer look. The dresses were too long to ever have belonged to her mam, and she thought back on whispered tales she had heard as a child. They must have belonged to Daddy's first wife, the white witch.

"Here," Mam said, shoving a low-cut brocade dress towards Marsali.

"But I..." She had never seen such a beautiful dress, much less worn one. The pattern swirled in shiny blues and greens, and the sides were more the twice the width of her hips. It was definitely the dress of a grown woman, not a little girl. "Can we?"

"I dinna see why not. _She's_ not coming back for them. I would like to see you in a nice dress. We can alter it to fit."

Marsali held the dress up, feeling the softness of it against her skin and, even after all these years, a hint of perfume. She nodded quietly. Perhaps it was a bit much for a mere wedding party at Lallybroch, but she didn't care.

* * *

In Marsali's fantasies, the dress turned her into a ravishing beauty that swept into the hall and made everyone lose their breath, Fergus most of all. Unfortunately, when she looked in the mirror, what she saw was still a half-grown girl, plain, flat and colourless as a field of oats. Even the dress couldn't hide it completely. If only Mam had taken it in a little less around the chest and permitted a little more padding! At least she could put her hair up, which had the double advantage of aging her up and making her neck longer. A few locks were allowed to fall down; after all, her hair was her best feature, next to her smile.

She smiled at her reflection.

"For Christ's sake," Mam said. "It's a wedding reception, not a royal ball." Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"No one," Marsali said, turning away from the mirror. "Everyone. I just want to be worthy of the dress."

"You _are_ worthy of it. And not for making vain faces."

There wasn't much chance of improving her appearance further; the best she could do was try to keep the hem from dragging into the mud as they stepped into the carriage.

The main hall of Lallybroch was full of people, but as soon as they had given their congratulations to the happy couple, Mam steered both of her daughters straight for their stepfather, his red head towering over his conversation partners.

"Hello, Jamie," Mam said, sounding triumphant.

He looked up and instantly paled at the sight of Marsali, reaching out to steady himself on the table.

"Daddy!" Joan said, tugging at his shirt. "Welcome back! I've missed you!"

Marsali took a step forward, but whatever Daddy was seeing at that moment, it wasn't her, and she wasn't sure whether she was making things better or worse.

Joan's insistence seemed to snap him out of it, though.

"Joanie… Marsali. Laoghaire." His eyes touched on Mam for a moment before he bent down to hug Joan. "I've missed you too, _a leannan_."

Marsali was next in turn for a hug. "Good to see ye, lass," he said. "You look all grown up." Over her head, he asked Mam, "Was it your idea?"

"Marsali needed a new dress," Mam said, too sweetly. "This one was being wasted."

As much as Marsali had missed Daddy, she couldn't bear much of the tension that mounted between him and her mam. After a few more awkward pleasantries, she wiggled herself out of the conversation in search of find Fergus.

Fergus was over by the windows, speaking to the Murray boys. Marsali walked up to him with a hopeful smile, but his reaction upon seeing her was far from the awe she had hoped for. Rather, he looked as though she had committed burglary in plain sight, and he hurried to meet her halfway, conversation partners forgotten.. " _Mon Dieu_. That dress… is it…?"

"Don't you like it?" Despite her best efforts, tears were dimming her sight.

His face was softer than she'd ever seen it. "It's very pretty. _You're_ very pretty. Quite the lady."

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she said, in defiance of her vanished daydream.

And there it was, the look of appraisal that told her when he _saw_ her, truly saw what he had never seen before. " _Non_. You are not. Can I bring you something? A drink?"

"Is there apple cider?" she asked.

"Of course. One second."

He went over to the refreshment table, and Marsali exchanged niceties with various passing Murrays until Fergus returned with two ciders, balanced between his real hand and the false one.

"One for you," he said with the slightest of bows, "and one for me."

"Thank you." She took the drink, hoping her nervous tremble was not too apparent. "How have you been, in Edinburgh?"

"Good. But it is different. I enjoy living in a city once more, but at the same time, I have missed Lallybroch."

"I have never lived in a city. What's it like? Fewer pigs, I'm guessing."

He smiled. "There are still pigs. Here and there. None I have had to wrestle."

"That's good." She returned his smile.

"There are a lot of people, everywhere. But they are people you walk right past, without greeting, people who do not know you," he continued.

"That could be a blessing," Marsali replied. Behind Fergus, she could see her mam craning her neck, clearly looking for her eldest daughter. Mam had not yet spotted them, but it was only a matter of time, and the conversation, pleasant though it may be, was heading back towards the familiar friend-like course. If this night was to be anything except a complete waste of time, Marsali would have to do something drastic.

"Come with me," she told Fergus. "I have something to show you."

From all her time playing with the Lallybroch bairns, she knew her way around the place well. The spiral dining-room staircase was too visible, but there was another one by the parlour, and so she led him up to the second floor and back behind the stairs to a little corridor nook that no one would have any reason to enter.

Fergus looked puzzled. "What exactly is it that you…?"

"This," she said, and kissed him.

He didn't push her off, which was encouraging, and there was a slight pressure that might indicate that he even kissed back, if only for a moment.

"Uh, Marsali..."

She let go, refusing to be embarrassed any longer. "There. That's done, it's out there. I'm all grown up now, I'm in a fancy dress, and if that isna enough, well, then I shall never be enough, and I suppose I've just made a giant tit of myself, but I dinna care."

"No, you haven't." Though he still looked more puzzled than enchanted, he did reach out to caress her hair, and that was something, at least. "Why, though?"

"Why? _Why?_ Have you seen yourself? Because I have. I have seen ye all my life, even though you have never, ever seen me."

"Of course I have!" he protested, then admitted, "Not as a woman, perhaps..."

"Right," she said bitterly. "Just a wee lass, that Marsali MacKimmie, not worth a second thought. Well, at least now I can say I kissed you once."

"Twice," he said, his gaze graver than she'd ever seen it.

"What?"

Fergus leaned in to catch her lips in his, and this was so much more than the hopes and frustration she'd let out in the previous kiss. This was kissing by someone who had practised the skill into an art form, leaving all fumbling with young farmhands far behind in the mist.

It lasted a lot longer, too. By the time they broke apart, she was breathing heavily, and her heart was racing.

"Any chance we could make it three times?" she asked.

He responded with another kiss, this time a quick, soft one. When he withdrew, it was with a rueful smile. "We should stop, _ma petite_. At this rate, it will be too much, too quickly."

"You have no idea how long I have wanted this, do you?" she asked, leaning in again.

He put a gentle but firm hand up to stop her. " _Non_. You are a good girl, you should not ruin that for me."

"To the devil with being a good girl!"

"Marsali, I am serious. You are so pretty, and kind, and I could not live with myself knowing that I had caused you difficulty."

She huffed at that and leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed, though after a moment the meaning of his words sank in and she couldn't help but smile. "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"Of course." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "You have the warmest smile in all of Scotland."

"See, you canna say things like that and expect a girl not to want ye."

His hand lingered on her face for a moment longer, and she closed her eyes, taking in the touch. Then he slowly – reluctantly? – pulled it away.

"How about this?" he said. "I will go back to Edinburgh next week, but I shall return for Hogmanay. That will give you time to think about things, and we can meet again then."

"How about," she said, trailing her fingers down his throat, "we meet again tomorrow."

He laughed gently.

"I can think about things until tomorrow. You can cool your head down. We will meet up to talk, like we always have, and I'll do my best to be a good girl." Her hand was now on his chest, belying her words.

Her mother would have had her thrashed to speak with such candour, and there was a moment, as Fergus' brow furrowed, when Marsali thought she might have taken things too far. Then his smile returned.

"Where?" he asked.

"The water mill," she said. "During High Mass. No one will be there."

He raised his eyebrows. "That is a rather blasphemous time for a _tête-à-tête_ , is it not? Such danger to your immortal soul."

"If my immortal soul isna sturdy enough..." she started, but stopped when she saw the glint in his eyes. "Oh. You're joking."

"I am," he admitted. "But surely your mother will miss you if you do not attend the service?"

"I have my tricks," she said. "Agreed, then?"

"Agreed," he said and gave her a light kiss on the nose. "Now, I shall take my leave of you. Wait here, and return downstairs in a quarter hour or so."

"Why?"

"Because if you mother notices that you are gone, her primary concern for as long as you are missing will be where you are, and she will pay little attention to anyone else. But once you have returned, her thoughts will move on to where you have been. By then, it is for the best if I am well established as one of the occupants of the main hall."

That was reasoning from a man who had been in such a situation before – perhaps a great many times. She nodded.

"Very well, off ye go, then. I will see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, and with one last caress of her hand, left the room.

* * *

The next morning, Marsali rummaged through her drawers until she found the box of dried yarrow, put a small quantity into her nose, and squeezed. The resulting nosebleed was most satisfying.

For all of Mam's lectures, she really could be remarkably naïve at times. Marsali had been using the yarrow trick for years to get out of unpleasant duties, and it still worked like a charm every time. Granted, she was careful to save it for absolute emergencies, such as when the object of her childhood infatuation of many years finally took notice of her and had agreed to meet her at the watermill.

As soon as Mam and Joanie had left for Mass, Marsali washed off her face, did her best to still the blood, and went down to the mill.

Clearly she had not waited long enough, because Fergus looked quite alarmed upon seeing her, and quickly rose from his chosen seat on the stairs to the mill.

"Marsali, _chérie_ , are you hurt?"

Marsali touched her nose, and her fingers came away speckled with red.

"Oh, no, no," she said, searching her pouch for her handkerchief. "I just used yarrow to make my nose bleed and fool my mother."

"You fooled me too," he said, drawing near.

She had found her handkerchief now and was ridding herself of the last stains, and yet he took her face in his hand to inspect the damage.

"Tsst, you hurt yourself so," he said reproachfully.

"Not very romantic," she admitted with a grimace.

"Is blood spilt for love not always romantic?" He smiled. "Such drastic measures just to see me."

"Am I chasing you, rather?" she asked. "I ken lasses shouldna chase after men, but I canna help myself, when I'm with you."

"You are not chasing me," he said, "or if you are, I do not mind. No – but I worry. You are still so young. Soon, you may find me not worth chasing. Do you understand?"

"Is that your way of saying you dinna want me?"

"No. On the contrary, I am honoured." He brushed away a lock of hair from her face and let it linger against his fingers. "But I do feel an obligation to protect you."

"Oh." The grin came unbidden. "Well, that is unnecessary, but very sweet. Thank you."

"You're welcome." With utmost tenderness, he leaned over and kissed her, then remained close, looking into her eyes. "And now we talk, yes? That is what you promised."

"We talk," she said. "Tell me something about Edinburgh."

"The buildings are very tall there. So many people are trying to make room for themselves within the city walls, that the buildings rise to ten, even fifteen floors. Taller than the tree-tops. People of all sorts live within: workers, nobles, merchants, all on separate floors but in the same house."

"The nobles havenae mansions of their own?"

"Some. In the New Town, further north. Perhaps they will all move there, eventually." He nudged her with his elbow. "Your turn. Tell me something from your life here."

"But you ken what life here is like", she said. "Nothing happens. I help mind the animals, and Joanie, and I do chores around the house. Sometimes there is a new book for me to read, or a new song for me to learn, and that is the most excitement we get."

He nodded somberly. "Do not frown at peace. It cannot be taken for granted."

"Aye, well." She rolled her eyes, familiar with the sentiment from too many older people telling their tales of war. Most of the time, it was easy to forget how much older Fergus was, but moments like these reminded her. Maybe that was what made her strike back with the most childish thing imaginable: "Joanie makes me play princess games with her, is that the sort of thing you want to hear about?"

"Perhaps it is. Are you the princess?"

"Nay, of course not. They are her games, she is the princess, and I am the wicked stepmother. I make her clean the floor, or eat a poisoned apple, or prick her finger on a spindle."

"I believe that one was not a stepmother."

"Oh, what difference does it make? They are just games." She sighed. "Will I ever be anything but a wee bairn to you?"

"You are not a bairn," he assured her. "But… perhaps I see myself too much in you. When I was your age, I acted on impulse, threw caution to the wind, as though nothing could hurt me. I was extremely wrong. So now I advocate caution. I ask you to take things slow." He took her hand, that mere touch enough to jolt her senses. "For both of our sakes."

"How slow can we take them?" she asked. "You leave in a week."

"May I write to you?"

"Of course! Although," she had to amend, "maybe not to our house. Could you leave the letters with Janet Murray? She willnae tattle on me."

"I shall do that," he said, and his smile was so sweet that she kissed him again.

The kiss was long and deep, and she wrapped both arms around his waist.

"Slow is one thing," she said after she let go of his lips. "I shan't grind to a halt."

He chortled at that and put his own arms around her. "No, it appears not."

* * *

Janet Murray proved as trustworthy a friend as Marsali had believed her to be. She seemed to consider the prospect of working as an intermediary utterly romantic, and whenever a new letter arrived from Edinburgh, she hurried to bring Marsali her letters.

In all honesty, they were more notes than letters. Fergus and Jamie both sent items back to the family, and in Janet's share there would be a small sheet of paper tucked in – between the pages of a prayer book, inside a deck of cards, and in one case, tucked into a new handkerchief. Marsali kept the notes and handed back the gifts, both to avoid suspicion and as payment for Janet's dutiful service.

Fergus' penmanship was fine, and he made his words as small as possible, but even so, there was only so much that could fit into a sheet of paper, or sometimes half a sheet. Marsali clung to every word, not just the terms of endearment, but the little jokes and everyday comments that made her feel as if he was right by her side.

To Janet's discerning tastes, though, there was too much of the latter and not enough of the former. "What was the purpose of that song he sent you?" she asked at one point. "It took up most of the page, and it was not romantic at all."

"It was very funny, though," said Marsali, who had laughed so hard she couldn't breathe when she first read the song. "And stop reading my letters."

"I canna promise that," said Janet without any hint of remorse. "Would it kill him to speak more of your eyes, your smile, your hair… I liked the part in the letter before this one, where he said the dawn's light reminded him of your hair."

"My hair tied back with a single ribbon," Marsali said.

She had liked that part too, but not primarily for the compliment. And how could she explain to Janet the warmth she felt at being sent a silly song with a laconic "I thought this would be to your tastes," when it was just the _right_ kind of silliness, proving how well he understood her? Tales of love were not woven by such things.

"I shall write to tell him, then," she said sweetly, "that his language is insufficiently floral to meet with your exacting standards. Will that satisfy you?"

"Shrew," Janet said and kicked her lightly on the shin.

"That is a yes, then."

But of course she didn't. She did not so much as mention Janet in her next letter, or comment on the language in any way.

Instead, she wrote: "Thank you for the song, it gave me a most hearty laugh. Tannakin says hello. Here is a drawing of her, made from three Os, two Ws, an M, an S, and two periods."

It was a simple drawing of a pig, and it would not in any way have fitted Janet's need for romance, but Marsali was certain that Fergus would understand.

* * *

That autumn was the slowest of Marsali's life, and she urged every leaf to fall faster. Eventually, the year did draw to a close, and Hogmanay came to Lallybroch.

Once again, Marsali donned the blue and green dress, this time not quite so worried about what her reflection would look like. By now, she was confident that Fergus would like her either way.

She could not find him, though, when they reached Lallybroch. The hall was crowded with Murrays upon Murrays, with no escape from their conversations. She was given nuts and bread, and a cup of atholl brose, and spent lot of time inquiring about everyone's health.

When at last she did spot Fergus, he was speaking to Mam of all people, and judging by their faces neither one liked what the other was saying. Marsali sincerely hoped he was not divulging the truth about their relationship – that was the sort of thing her mother needed to be eased into.

After that, he disappeared into the crowd again, frustrating her. In the end, she smiled blandly and slunk away from whoever approached to talk to her, and she did the only thing she could think of – she went upstairs, to the nook in the corridor.

There he was, elbows resting on the windowsill and a forlorn expression on his face, which twisted into a melancholy half-smile when he saw her.

She put her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "What did she say to you?"

"Not much. It was just..." He sighed, and she kissed him on the ear.

"Did you tell her about us?"

"No. Not as such."

"Good. She isna ready yet. Leave it to me."

"Marsali." He grabbed her arms, gently, and steered her off. "I should never have let this happen. Every day that passes will just make it harder to let you go."

"So dinna let me go."

"I have to. You are a respectable girl of good family, and..."

"Christ, I am not saying to ravish me right on the floor! Call me mad, but there is an option inbetween doing that and dropping me like a handful of cow manure. Is there no?"

She stared at him, and he stared back, miserably. When he didn't reply, a stone of doubt formed in her stomach.

"Oh," she said. "You never had any intention to keep me, did you? It was just a laugh, to you."

"No!" he said, reaching out for her, only to let his arm drop again. "Never that. I just… I was not thinking. I wanted to be with you, to touch you and talk to you, and read your letters..."

"But not long term."

"No. Yes. If I could, but I cannot."

She waited for an explanation. There was none.

"Right," she snapped There were limits to how much rubbish she was willing to put up with, even from Fergus. "I have had quite enough of your gloomy faces and half-muttered tales of woe with no explanation. I love you. I was rather under the impression that you love me, too, so what the blazes is going on?"

"I do love you," he said, "but Marsali, I am not a man you would want to marry."

"You are the _only_ man I would want to marry," she said, crossing her arms. "Why wouldn't I want to marry you?"

"You cannot. Your mother would never allow it."

"I can convince her. Or we could take it to Daddy. I think he may still be my legal guardian."

That made his eyes widen in a way that would have been comical in any other situation. "You cannot take this to milord!"

Still no explanation. For Christ's sake, this was like pulling teeth. A thought struck her. "This isna about your hand, is it? Because that would be stupid. Mister Murray has a wooden leg, and he's married – and I've never heard Mam say a word against him, either."

"No. It is… because of where I was born."

"France?" That made even less sense. "What does that matter? We canna all be Scottish."

"A brothel!"

The word hung in the air between them.

"I was born in a brothel, in Paris," he continued. "My mother was a whore there. I don't even know which one. That is where I grew up. I was a pick-pocket when milord found me. I have nothing, except for what he has given me. No family, no property, no honour. Nothing to give a wife."

Marsali had always thought of Fergus as a grown up, self-assured, a man of the world. Now, she remembered how very young he had been when he came to Scotland. He had been no older than Joanie. What a terrible life, for a wee bairn!

"We should not see each other any longer," Fergus concluded and turned away, ready to walk back downstairs.

He actually meant it. That realisation snapped Marsali out of her thoughts, and she caught him in her arms, fiercely closing them around him.

"You _idiot_ ," she said. "That has _nothing_ to do with you and me. I care for _you_ , not your property or family. What difference does it make, where you were born? The Lord himself was born in a bloody manger!"

"It makes a great deal of difference to the world," he pointed out. "I am not a suitable match, _chérie_."

"My mother had a suitable match three times over. How do you think that worked out for her?"

He gave no answer, just raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

"All I care about is whether you love me," she said. "And you just said you do. If you will not marry me because you do not want to, then I shall bury my love and try to survive it. But if you will not marry me because you think that I do not want to, then I'll thank you to remember that I ken my own mind."

She stepped in closer, and his arms settled around her hips, as if drawn in by magnetism.

"I hate that those things happened to you," she said, smoothing the hair away from his face and giving him a light kiss on the lips. "But they created _you_. And you are all I ever wanted, Fergus."

Tears filled his eyes, and he drew a shaky breath, as if trying to halt them, but to no avail. "I should not let you do this."

"But you will," she said. "Will ye marry me, then?"

"Yes," he murmured against her neck, giving it little kisses. "God knows how, but yes. I will marry you, _ma petite_."

"Good." Satisfied with the confirmation, she withdrew. "Then ask me."

"What?"

"Ask me to marry you. I ken we have already settled the matter, but that is how it goes. This bit of propriety I do insist upon."

"Ah, of course." His impish smile awakened through the tears, like sun showers. With distinguished flourish, he sank down on one knee and took her hand in his. "Marsali MacKimmie, will you marry me?"

"Obviously, you dolt. I mean, aye." She, too, sank down on her knees, so she could kiss him more easily. "Aye, I will."

His lips found hers, and that moment – that was magical.


End file.
